Fresh Air
by cosette141
Summary: A beautiful moment between father and son over a fishing trip. Beautiful, terrible, I've heard it both ways.


_Hello! It's been a while since I posted something, so I thought I'd maybe share a little oneshot._

 _:)_

 _~cosette_

* * *

Shawn took a long, deep breath.

And…

He still didn't get it.

He had spent the better—he would never describe is as _better_ —part of his childhood listening to his father drone on about this so-called fresh air when he went out fishing. Sitting out on the open water underneath a cloudless sky, breathing in that _fresh air._

Shawn scrunched his nose. This was not fresh air.

This was sea-air.

Shawn sighed again, very audibly, for perhaps the twelfth time in the past thirty seconds, trying to get on his father's nerves. Usually it took far less than thirty seconds to achieve that goal but today it was taking much, much longer.

Shawn finally turned away from the blankness of the horizon across the small speedboat to his father. Henry Spencer was lying in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, hat brought slightly down over his shut eyes. His breathing had slowed down some and Shawn assumed the man was sleeping. Either sleeping or dying. At the moment, Shawn didn't really care which.

Feeling a wave of annoyance, Shawn realized his father must truly be asleep because he didn't stir at Shawn's obnoxious sighing. Grinding his teeth, Shawn turned roughly back to stare aimlessly at the horizon, not bothering to look longingly back toward the coast, where he'd give up his life and Gus' to get back to.

Henry had forced Shawn to come along for a fishing trip on his boat. It had been at least twenty years since the last one, and that one didn't end well…

At all.

But for some ungodly reason, Henry had come up with the ridiculous need to drag Shawn along with him this weekend. It was Saturday, and that made everything far worse. Shawn could have been at Psych with Gus, practicing new pranks to pull on Lassiter or Facebook-stalking Juliet.

But _no_. He had to get up at six o'clock in the morning and go out _fishing_.

It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon now, and Henry had caught two measly fish. For some reason, Shawn's father was in a great mood, not even seeming to notice how much Shawn hated the fact that he had to be here.

Not even when Shawn told him that.

For some reason, that made Shawn want to tick off his old man even more. So, when Henry wasn't looking, Shawn dumped the two fish his father had caught straight back into the water. He sat back and waited for the lecture that was bound to come.

But it never did.

Henry had just given him a look. A look that screamed that the man wanted to reprimand him. But Henry swallowed it.

And it was suspicious.

Shawn looked at his phone, but it was way too out of range to do anything remotely entertaining. He sighed—this time for real—and stuffed the phone back into his pocket, wondering where he left his beer. He sat up and instead spotted a fish that his father must have caught without telling him. Shawn reached for the poor animal when Henry said, "Don't even think about it, kid."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I knew you weren't sleeping."

Henry stretched and fixed his hat, pulling himself upright in the chair. "Can't you just indulge me for one afternoon, Shawn? I'm not asking for much."

"No, you're asking me to waste an entire Saturday sitting on a boat in the middle of nowhere."

"Shawn, you can see the coast."

"I still don't understand why you insist on killing innocent sea creatures." said Shawn, gesturing toward the water. "Remember what that fish said in that movie? Finding Dino?"

Henry rolled his eyes, a glare slowly inching across his face. "It was Finding Nemo, Shawn."

"Well, either way, Dino said 'fish are friends, not food.'"

"A shark said that."

Shawn shut his eyes, putting his fingers to his temple, the stench of the sea air getting to him, and probably messing up his hair. But he didn't even want to go there. "Whatever. Can we please just go."

"Shawn," sighed Henry, standing, rocking the boat with his movement. "Why don't you actually try to enjoy this? Maybe grow up a little while you're at it?"

Shawn sighed loudly again, throwing his head back and rubbing his tired eyes. "Dad, you're _killing_ me, here. Is this all just because I kept stealing your newspapers last week?"

Henry raised an eyebrow. " _You_ stole those?"

Shawn opened his eyes, creeping his gaze back to his father. "…No."

"Shawn."

"There were coupons for the fruit stand down the street from my apartment. I had to get as many as I could find."

Henry's eyes narrowed.

"Dad," whined Shawn. "Seriously, though, can we call it quits on this little trip and head back to—"

"Fine, Shawn!" spat Henry, his face gaining its first tint of red, like he was hitting the first level in his rage meter. "Fine. We'll go back. _Fine_."

"Finally," breathed Shawn, thankful for winning the battle.

"Start the engine," muttered Henry. Shawn turned around to the old fashioned engine and pulled the ripcord.

Nothing happened.

Blinking, Shawn tried again, getting the same result.

"Shawn, start the—"

"I heard you, Dad. You're literally two feet away from me."

Shawn pulled it again, but it didn't make a sound. Nervous, Shawn began to examine it.

"What did you do, Shawn?"

Shawn turned. Henry was staring at him, his rage meter shifting up a few levels, probably skipping ahead some. Shawn swallowed, and stood.

"Well," he said, looking from the engine to his father. "The engine does not appear to work."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "You broke my engine?"

"Woah, Dad!" exclaimed Shawn defensively, putting his hands up for effect. "Let's not go blaming anyone, here. I believe your therapist would be mighty disappointed in you right now. You should be giving me the benefit of the doubt."

"I don't need to, Shawn! I _have_ no doubt! For twenty years that engine worked fine, and the moment you get in, it doesn't!"

"You don't know I actually did it!"

"Well, Shawn, after thirty-one years of raising you, I assume—"

"Yeah, and you know what they say about the first two letters of that word."

Henry crossed his arms. "Ass is spelled with three letters, Shawn."

"Well, you would know!"

Henry sighed exasperatedly and said, "Fine, Shawn." He paused then asked slowly, "Did you break the engine?"

Shawn looked back down at it. "Yeah, think I might've."

" _Shawn_!"

Shawn picked up the now-empty beer can from a crook in the engine, where beer had leaked in through the metal. "Guess it wasn't a cup holder."

* * *

 _Haha thanks for reading guys! I shall have another story up soon :)_

 _~cosette141_


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